


Teaching a New Dog Old Tricks

by Kedreeva



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Assisted Suicide Attempt, Bottom Chris Argent, Chris gets the bite, First Full Moon, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Mild Blood, Suicidal Thoughts, Top Derek Hale, Werewolf Chris Argent, he does get the bite after all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-18 03:24:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14203974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedreeva/pseuds/Kedreeva
Summary: Chris gets the bite from a feral alpha, and Derek helps to teach him that it's not so bad.





	Teaching a New Dog Old Tricks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yogibogeybox (Green)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/gifts).



> This is a commission for Yogi-bogey-box for the Fandom Loves Puerto Rico fanworks auction back in November. The original prompt was as follows: "Chris/Derek. Chris is bitten and Derek helps him survive it and learn being a wolf is ok."

 

 

 

            The worst part, the absolute worst, most humiliating, infuriating thing about it, is that it doesn’t even happen at home. It isn’t Peter’s jaws or Derek’s teeth or even Scott’s accidental snap. An entire pack _made_ of alphas passes through Beacon Hills, wreaking havoc and leaving ruins, and not one of those _five_ has the decency to give Chris the dignity of taking the bite of a halfway respectable, powerful werewolf.

            No, it has to be some no-name alpha on death’s doorstep, two states from home on a hunt Chris came to as a favor for a friend. A spasm, practically a death throe, which leaves Chris with a bite mark on his ankle, a dead wolf at his feet, and a gun cocked at his head.

            “I want to say goodbye to my daughter,” he says, instead of asking Tom not to pull the trigger. “Come home with me, if you want, but give me that much.”

            Tom does- give him that much and follow him home.

            The full moon is in three days, and Chris spends them as well as he can. He double checks that all of his affairs are in order, everything from life insurance to funeral preparations to house payments. Allison will be eighteen this year, and everything is willed directly to her. Chris has made a lot of bad decisions in his life, but none of them were financial, and Allison should be set for more than long enough to put herself through college and get her feet under her afterward.

            She won’t be happy. He knows that. After what happened with Victoria, after _everything_ that went down following her death, he knows that Allison will not forgive him for leaving, too. He also knows that there is no other choice. He absolutely will not become a monster. He will not put a monster into her home. He will not see her dead by his own hands.

            But he can’t tell her any of that, yet, so he takes her out to their favorite restaurants and asks her about her life in soft tones and listens to the answers in ways he hasn’t done in a very long time. She knows something is up, she’s too smart not to, but he passes it off as a secret and hopes she assumes the best of him. She won’t have to assume long, and he’ll be gone by the time she’s angry.

            That thought doesn’t make it any better. Chris doesn’t want to leave her alone, doesn’t want to leave her at all, if he’s being honest. She has been through so much since they moved to this god-forsaken hellhole, and knowing that he is going to be one more black mark on that list does not make his decision easier. It makes him linger, makes him track her every movement, listen to the beat of her heart, memorize the scent of her. It makes him remember why he can pick out each and every individual scent that makes her Allison, and he tells her he’s stepping out for a little bit, and that he loves her, and then he leaves her studying on her bed alone.

            Tom drives him out to the woods, far from downtown so that it will look like a hunting accident. It will look like a mistake, to anyone that doesn’t know that Chris doesn’t make those kinds of mistakes. He doesn’t make the kind of mistakes that leave him with a ring of tooth marks on his skin, either, but the universe didn’t get that memo.

            “Who do you want me to call first?” Tom asks, as he loads the rifle. “Family or cops?”

            “Cops,” Chris says automatically as he shucks his jacket and tosses it to the forest floor at Tom’s feet. The sheriff _has_ to know what is going on in the town – Chris cannot fathom Stiles being capable of keeping it secret – so John will cover for Chris. “Katherine will come by to check on Allison. You should be gone by then.”

            Tom scoffs a little. “You really are slipping if you think I’m still going to be in this state by the time I call it in. Ready?”

            That is, Chris thinks, the worst most unfair question he has ever been asked. Of course he isn’t ready. No one is ever ready for something like this, not really.

            “Yes,” he says, raising his chin and steeling himself. Tom is a good shot. Chris likely won’t even feel it.

            Tom hesitates, the rifle halfway to his shoulder. “For what it’s worth,” he says quietly, “you were one of the best. World won’t be the same without Chris Argent in it.”

            It isn’t worth much, not at the moment. Chris nods anyway.

            Tom nods back, rifle coming to bear against his shoulder as he takes aim.

            Movement to his right catches Chris’ eye, too fast for him to even get a warning out before the hulking, snarling alpha hits Tom full force. The gun fires in the wrong direction, up into the trees, the bullet scattering debris down onto Chris, and Tom is out cold on the forest floor before any of it hits. A second later, Chris realizes he is still weaponless, and the gun – or what is left of the gun, at any rate – splinters to pieces in the werewolf’s long jaws. It looks like a toy.

            Then the wolf turns to him, eyes the red of a burning sunset, and Chris knows he has no hope of outrunning the thing. He’s seen them keep up with cars and he’s only a leap away. Maybe that’s for the best. He hadn’t come here to survive the night.

            “Do it,” he says, barely a whisper and more than loud enough to be heard.

            The wolf stares at him, still mantled over its kill, except there’s no blood, and Chris recognizes that shape, that stance, those eyes. He knows this wolf, and perhaps more importantly, this wolf knows him.

            “Derek?” he asks.

 

* * *

 

            Derek hesitates, nose to the air to catch the scent of the omega running loose in his territory. The sun hasn’t set but it has set the sky on fire and the moon is already full on the horizon. He can feel it in his bones, the call of the shift, the howl of the wolf desperate to put its paws to the ground, but he has to ignore it a little longer. He has to keep control because as heavy as the scent of lone wolf is, it is layered with the scent of an unfamiliar hunter on its tail.

            More trouble they don’t need right now, while everything is still so fragile and tense in the aftermath of the alpha pack.

            His ears prick up at the sound of voices, one of them oddly familiar- Argent. It makes sense. Derek is on the heels of the strange wolf, and Argent has caught up with the strange hunter from another direction the two of them closing in like a vice. In a way, they make a good team, trying to keep Beacon Hills protected and under control.

            Unfortunately, the scent leads the same way as the voices, and Derek bolts in their direction, hoping he is not too late. He knows he can run an omega off the territory without anyone getting hurt. He knows the wolf will die if it tries to take on both of the hunters. He doesn’t need to know, the second hunter to be sure of that.

            What he does not know is why he finds the second hunter with a rifle pointed directly at Chris Argent’s head, a mile into the preserve with no wolf in sight, but he doesn’t hesitate. He thinks there might be something to say about that, but he doesn’t have enough time to think about it before the newcomer is laid out on the ground, his rifle falling to pieces under the crushing power of Derek’s jaws.

            He wobbles a little as the scent of the omega crashes over him, so close and strong, and turns to find it, to stop it from joining the fight because the only one left is Argent and they need him alive. But they are alone, and Argent is holding out his hands palms up like a sacrifice, and the words that come out of his mouth make no sense.

            “Do it.”

            Derek steps toward him, nose full of omega and sight full of Argent, and he puts two and two together even as he sees Argent recognizes him, even like this.

            Chris Argent has been bitten. He’s been bitten and he’s turning and his alpha is dead, and something within Derek begins to stir.

 

* * *

 

            Chris watches the shift melt away, long jaws and dark fur receding to pale skin and sharp angles and not enough clothes. He takes a step back, or he thinks he does, or he wants to, but he doesn’t really because he can’t seem to make any of his limbs obey him as Derek prowls forward, as human as Chris wishes they both were. He stops just a couple of feet away, inappropriately close and yet not close enough for the wolf scrabbling at Chris’ self control.

            “You were bitten,” Derek says.

            Chris looks away, stubborn and angry. “Yeah,” he admits.

            Derek studies him for a second before glancing over his shoulder to Tom’s prone form and the remnants of Chris’ salvation. There were no weapons here now, save the claws and teeth of the wolf before him. “You were going to let him kill you.”      

            “I asked him to,” Chris tells him. It’s none of Derek’s business. Chris doesn’t owe him anything, but he can’t seem to keep from answering.

            “What about Allison?” Derek asks, plucking the worst of Chris’ guilt right from where it lay lodged under his ribs. “Does she know what you’re doing?”

            Chris shakes his head instead of speaking. He hadn’t even left her a note, nothing the police could find. She will know, she will understand. She’ll forgive him, eventually.

            The look Derek gives him tells him they both know better than that.

            Derek takes a step closer and Chris can feel his presence like a weight. “You’re not the sort of person that wants to die,” he says, low and measured, even though he has no right to sound like he knows Chris that well. “Is it so bad, to be a wolf, that you would rather be dead?”

            “I don’t want to be a monster,” Chris says. He has said the word a thousand times before, but this time something in him winces, shies away from it. Monster. The sun has almost sunk below the horizon. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

            “You’re a hunter,” Derek reminds him, and it sounds like the way Chris says _monster_. He supposes that of the two of them, Chris has ended more lives. He wonders what that makes him. He wonders if it matters anymore.

            “It’s different,” Chris tells him, not sure it’s true. “I have control of that.”

            Derek considers this, head tilted just-so, before he says: “I can help you control it.”

            He’s still too close and too far and he smells like things Chris wants with so much unfamiliar desperation it clouds his judgment. “Like you helped Scott?” he says, like a weapon, like a shield, because that’s all he has left.

            “Not exactly,” Derek rumbles, edging a little closer, just enough to make the wolf clamoring to get out start _howling_ for release.

             And then it isn’t, anymore.

            It is weighted down by the calming presence of something Else, something stronger and older and Other; something that feels like the touch of a cool hand in the dead heat of a summer sun. Chris actually whimpers at the relief, slumping a little as he catches his breath for the first time in _days_. The heady desire to submit, to bare every vulnerable part of himself to Derek, nearly overwhelms him.

            And then it is gone, the pressure lifting and leaving him to the same howling void he started with, except now he realizes why it howls. Not because there is too much wildness in him to contain, but because something else is missing.

            “What was that?” he asks hoarsely. He manages not to beg to have it back, but only barely.

            “Me,” Derek says simply, like Chris didn’t know that already. “I’m an alpha.”

            The sun is gone, twilight the only vestige of the day. Chris can feel the shift at his fingertips, and he wants to snap. He wants to fight. “You’re not _my_ alpha.” _His_ alpha is _dead_ , left to rot in pieces hundreds of miles from here.

            Derek smirks a little, and it’s infuriating and enticing and Chris shudders when he feels that perfect weight brush over his senses again, the purposeful slide of one will over another, the quieting of the new wolf in the presence of an alpha. Chris hardly breathes.

            “Not yet,” Derek admits. “But I could be.”

            “I don’t want to be under your control,” Chris spits, furious at his own lie. He wants to be, or the wolf does, and the moon is out and he’s not sure there’s a difference anymore. He can feel his own claws, his own fangs, his own fur as the moon drags out his true form and drops him to all fours.

            Derek’s shift has changed him, too, but he doesn’t withdraw control again, and Chris wants to sob with relief but he only stands there, bristled and strung taut. “It’s not like that,” Derek tells him through his fangs, and Chris wishes he couldn’t hear that it’s the truth, but Derek’s heartbeat never wavers.

            “What _is_ it like?” Chris snaps, the words thick in his throat. He pushes back against Derek’s will and feels it give, and it feels like missing the last step in a flight of stairs. With crystal clarity, he knows Derek will only ever ask him to submit; after that, it is Chris’ choice. It’s his choice now, too.

            “Let me show you,” Derek says softly, so close. Too close. Chris can see Tom’s prone form and the shattered weapon and the remains of his old life scattered among the leaf litter. “Let me show you,” Derek repeats, drawing his attention up, up, up, until their eyes meet and all Chris can see is burning, alpha red. “If you still prefer death tomorrow, I’ll do it myself.”

            “You don’t kill people,” Chris reminds him, but that’s not entirely true because he knows there is blood on Derek’s hands, too. “You don’t want to.”

            But Derek doesn’t answer the unspoken question, and when he settles his palms on the forest floor and takes a step forward, Chris follows as if on puppet strings. He can hear the skip of Derek’s heart, the click of his throat as he swallows. In a thousand different scents, the only one that matters is that of _alpha_ , and Chris takes the next step willingly.

            A part of him whispers that he might as well know what he’s running from.

            The rest of him doesn’t care, as long as it gets to run.

           

* * *

 

            Chris loses all sense of time as Derek takes him through the preserve, clawed hands pounding over damp earth, heels kicking up leaves behind them. The moon hangs low and heavy in the sky, ahead of them sometimes, behind them others. He can feel the light of it on his skin, in his bones, soothing through him and over him. The wolf is at peace here, running alongside of Derek under the cover of darkness, bathed in moonlight.

            There is power in the long, loping strides they take, in the amount of ground they can cover from one step to the next. Chris has never run so fast in his life, and he lets himself go enough to revel in the stretch and burn of his muscles, the pure strength beneath his skin. He is full to bursting with the thrill of it, right up until they find the edge of the woods and arrive at the bluffs overlooking Beacon Hills.

            Running, for a human, is a lesson in endurance. Chris is familiar with the ache of well-used muscles, the soreness that comes from sprinting full tilt for as long as they have. What he is _not_ familiar with, however, is the new burn of healing as his muscles repair themselves almost instantly as soon as he comes to a stop by Derek’s side, brushing shoulders with the powerful alpha. He is not familiar with how fast the roughness in his chest and throat fade, or how the palms of his hands tingle as they heal the tiny scrapes from hitting the ground.

            He is becoming familiar with the easy slide of Derek’s presence against his own, full of comfort and command in equal measure. Chris thinks he would gladly drown in such a sensation. There are worse ways to go.

            Derek looks over at him, red eyes bright, and Chris becomes aware of something beyond the thrumming of his own heart.

            There are wolves in the woods.

            What is left of the Beacon Hills werewolves are loud on the wind, both in scent and in sound. Derek turns away from him and steps up onto one of the rocky outcroppings edging the steep drop off down to the town. Chris nearly follows him up, aching at even the minor distance between them, right up until the moment Derek tips his head back and looses a long, piercing howl.

            Chris has heard werewolves howl before. He has heard the early, garbled howls of newly turned betas. He has heard the powerful, angry call of an alpha leading its pack. He has heard, too many times perhaps, the lonely wail of an omega. He has heard entire packs yowling to find each other after he’s sent them scattering to the four winds with their tails between their legs.

            This… this is different.

            This calls to his wolf, hauls it screaming to the surface so fast Chris is hardly aware of how his own voice has joined in the song. And it is- it is absolutely a song, one he never learned and yet knows to the very core of his being. The howl torn out of his throat is not for himself or for Derek or for the other werewolves adding their voices to the chorus.

            This song is for the moon, each voice a note of praise and gratitude, relief for finding light in the darkness. She lends that light to them, gifts to them her strength and speed and power so that they may use it to protect others. She gives to them a form which can traverse the shadows she cannot touch, and asks for three nights of tribute in return. The blood she demands is not innocent; it is their own, and the blood of those that would bring harm to their homes.

            Tears sting at Chris’ eyes as the song draws to a close, the echoes of it curling around in the still night air.

            Derek turns to look at him, a question in his eyes, and Chris understands.

            He has been wrong. He has been wrong all along.

            The wolves were never meant to be the monsters.

 

* * *

 

            Dawn breaks eventually, bringing soft fingertips and blunt teeth and smooth skin with it. They circle back to where they had left Tom, but he is long gone with only the stale scent of blood and fear and anger lingering in his wake. Chris knows he’ll be waiting at home to finish the job. Derek toes at the remnants of the rifle, left in pieces, and the scent of gunpowder and steel swirls up into the air. Chris wrinkles his nose.

            When he looks up, he finds Derek just staring at him thoughtfully.

            “What?” he asks, defensive about how vulnerable he feels now that they are human again, or at least look like them.

            “Come on,” Derek says, instead of answering.

            Chris can’t explain why he follows Derek through the woods, on two feet now instead of four, except that Derek made him a promise he hasn’t fulfilled. They walk in silence, and Chris doesn’t ask why his senses are worse now; better than they had been as a human, but dull compared to a full moon wolf. He wants to claw his own skin off to get it back, to let the wolf out again.

            Eventually, they find Derek’s Camaro, parked on the edge of a road no one actually takes, next to a sign on a chain across the road that wouldn’t actually keep anyone out. Chris accepts the bottle of water Derek fetches from the trunk and downs it to keep himself from complaining when Derek dons real clothes again. He doesn’t want to feel this way, tired and starving and anxious and it isn’t until Derek puts one warm palm around the back of his neck that Chris realizes he’s shaking.

            “I’ll keep my promise,” he says quietly. “But I have one more place to take you. Get in.”

            Chris can feel the command in the words. He could say no. He could remind Derek that it’s tomorrow, that he promised, that Chris is not one of his betas and doesn’t have to take his orders.

            He opens the car door and slips into the passenger seat.

 

* * *

 

            Chris recognizes where they are going before they arrive and opens his mouth to protest just as Derek pulls over and drops the car into park a block away from Chris’ house. They are still out of sight, and Tom doesn’t know what Derek’s car looks like anyway, but that doesn’t make it any better. Chris just gets out of the car and slams the door, because he doesn’t need to be safe and if Derek wants to put his own life in danger, that’s up to him.

            The quiet click of Derek’s door closing leaves a welt of guilt on Chris’ conscience. Chris doesn’t look at him when he says, again: “Come on.”

            Derek doesn’t say anything as they circle closer to home. The sky has taken on the reddish hue of morning, bathing everything in rosy highlights that seem particularly ironic considering his situation. He wonders what the opposite of rose-colored glasses would be, but he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t say anything at all until they come to a stop a few houses away from his own.

            “This isn’t my house,” Chris tells him.

            “I know,” Derek says. “Your house might have had a hunter in it.” He put his hands in his jacket pockets and settles in like he’s going to be standing still for a while. “It has something else, though.”

            Chris scowls. “That’s fighting dirty,” he says. “I’ve already said goodbye to Allison. We didn’t need to come here.”

            “We’re not here to say anything,” Derek tells him. “Close your eyes.”

            Though Chris stares stubbornly at him a moment longer, he does as he is told. With his eyes closed, everything else becomes sharper, louder, stronger. The scent of breakfast in the air and the sound of voices and the whisper of the wind through the trees. He hears the pulse of life in dozens of heartbeats, but there is only one he recognizes without trying.

            _“He didn’t come home last night_ ,” he hears her say. _“Mr. Fisher stopped by to see if he came here. Something’s wrong.”_

            _“I’m sure he just got held up somewhere,”_ comes Lydia’s voice, quieter, tinnier, from the far side of the phone.

            _“No one just gets_ held up somewhere _, Lydia. Not in Beacon Hills. And why wouldn’t he call me if he was going to be late? Why doesn’t Mr. Fisher know where he is? They left together last night.”_

            He heard Lydia sigh, and it was a few seconds before she answered. _“Did you call Scott? Maybe he knows something.”_

            Allison makes an impatient noise of frustration. _“He didn’t pick up. I can’t do this, Lydia. I can’t lose my dad, too. We have to find him.”_

 _“Okay,”_ Lydia agrees, in the tone even Chris knows means she’s made up her mind. _“Promise me you don’t go off half-cocked before I get there, and we’ll go find him together.”_

            Chris hears Allison’s sniffled thank you, the racing of her heart, and knows she is crying even if he can’t see her. Guilt prickles at his skin, squeezing his chest. Hunters use their lives to protect the innocent from evil, even if that threat is from themselves. They don’t let themselves become werewolves. They don’t let themselves become monsters.

            They don’t willingly follow alpha werewolves on long runs or sing of blood and love to the midnight moon, either. Maybe Chris isn’t much of a hunter anymore.

            The gentle touch of Derek’s hand on the back of his neck jolts him back to reality, and he realizes he is shaking again. “I can’t hurt her,” he says, like it’s breaking him, like he’s already broken. It sounds weak. It sounds exactly like the excuse it is.

            “Then don’t abandon her,” Derek tells him. “Nothing you’ll ever do as a wolf could hurt her more than that. You don’t get to check out of life and leave her all by herself just because something bad happened to you. Something bad happens to everyone. Get over it. She needs you.”

            Chris wants to bare his teeth, wants to lash out and snap and snarl, but he’s afraid he would only taste ash. Derek meets his gaze when he looks, pale eyes patient in a way his words were not. Chris can’t hold eye contact as embarrassment flushes under his skin, along his cheeks and down his neck, leaving red in its wake.

            “I’m sorry,” Chris mumbles, hating how much it feels like submission. Hating how good it feels to do.

            “Don’t be sorry. Be here for her. You don’t have to hurt anyone to do that,” Derek tells him, softer now. “My mother used to tell us that we were predators, but that doesn’t make us killers.”

            “I am,” Chris says, strangled. “Do you have any idea how many I’ve killed?”

            Derek studies him for a moment, and then releases him. “Come on,” he says, now a familiar phrase.

            Chris looks back in the direction of his home, to where he can hear Allison’s phone ringing and her soft _pick up, Scott_. He realizes she’s turning to werewolves to save him, that she would rather face her own broken heart than lose him, and he knows even before Derek stops back at the Camaro that he can’t leave her. He can’t.

            “Come look in the mirror,” Derek requests, one hand on the side mirror of his car.

            Chris hesitates, not sure this is necessary, but he takes a knee beside the Camaro and looks at himself in the mirror. He’s a little dirtier than he likes to be, but it’s still his same bright, blue eyes staring back. He looks over the top of the mirror at Derek in question.

            “Shift, and look again,” Derek instructs, and Chris flinches. He doesn’t want to see himself turn into a monster. Maybe that’s the point.

            Tentatively, Chris loosens his control of the wolf and it stirs, curling claws from his fingertips and filling his mouth with fangs. His face shifts around his eyes, which flare from blue to the burnished gold of a werewolf.

            “They’re gold,” Derek points out, as if it were not the most obvious thing in the world. “Your eyes. They’re gold. Do you know what that means?”

            “I’m a werewolf?” Chris guesses. If there was any meaning beyond that, it had never mattered enough for Chris to know it.

            “You’re a genius,” Derek says flatly, and Chris smiles for the first time. “It means you haven’t killed anyone innocent. If you had, your eyes in shift would be blue.”

            _Like mine_ sits uncomfortably silent in the space between them. Chris has seen Derek’s beta shift, and the startling blue of his eyes. Chris tries not to think about how blue his own eyes are, as a human. He doesn’t ask what happened, or who it was, or why Derek did it. If he doesn’t ask, then he won’t feel pressed to admit to his own history.

            “As a wolf, you haven’t killed anyone,” Derek repeats. “That’s a better track record than you had as a human. Do you still think you’ve become a monster?”

            No, Chris thinks, but he might have just _stopped_ being one. “And when I lose control, and hurt someone? Kill someone?” he says, instead, letting the shift recede until he recognizes himself in the mirror. “You can’t hold my hand every full moon.”

            “I can if you let me,” Derek says.

            The precious, calming pressure of Derek’s alpha will returns, a stroke down the spine of his wolf, and Chris doesn’t exactly whimper at the contact, except for how he does. The sun is up, the moon only a memory, and Chris has no real excuse for how badly he wants to submit to that will and let Derek have him.

            “Why does that feel so good?” he completely fails to not say.

            “To make it easy for you,” Derek tells him, and then shifts, looks apprehensive before he continues. “And… because I want you, too. I would never have bitten you, Chris, but…”

            “But now that I’m bitten, you’ll have me,” Chris says, getting to his feet, anger licking at him with a tongue of fire.

            “Try the other way around,” Derek says, giving him space Chris doesn’t want. “Now that you’ve been bitten, maybe you’ll have me.”

            Chris doesn’t say anything for a while, just stares at Derek with his jaw tightly clenched, and finally holds out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

            Derek hesitates, but finally produces the object and passes it to Chris without question. Chris dials, not needing a contact list to make this particular call. It rings four times, and then Tom’s voice is on the other end.

            “Argent’s out, who is this?”

            “Argent,” Chris says tersely. Tom isn’t going to like any of this. “Are you okay?”

            “I’m fine, where the hell did you fuck off to last night?” Tom demands. “I hope you got whatever nailed me.”

            Derek raises an eyebrow and Chris rolls his eyes. “I did,” he says. It’s kind of true. “Where are you now?”

            “Down the street from your place, watching out for Allison. Waiting for you to come back or call me or turn up dead,” Tom says. “I was just about to go looking for your body. Where are you? Whose phone is this?”

            “Someone kind enough to let me borrow his,” Chris tells him vaguely. “I’m on my way back, meet me outside my house in ten minutes.”

            “Sure. Hey, did you uh… you know?” Tom asks tentatively.

            “No,” Chris says, suddenly and intensely grateful that Derek had shown up when he did. He’d be dead or worse right now if he hadn’t. “Looks like I just went for a run. No harm done.”

            “Good, that’s good,” Tom agrees, sounding relieved. Chris wonders, although briefly, if Tom would have blamed himself if Chris had hurt anyone. “Okay, I’ll see you in a few minutes and we’ll get this taken care of right this time.”

            Chris hangs up and before Derek can ask any questions, dials another number. It rings twice before Allison picks up, yelling before he even says hello. “If you know _anything_ about where my dad is, you had better tell me right fucking now, Derek, or I swear to _god_ -“

            “Allison,” Chris interrupts, ignoring her foul language in light of far more pressing concerns. “I’m fine. Derek’s letting me borrow his phone.”

            “Dad? Where are you?” she asks, instantly switching modes. “Are you okay? What happened? Why don’t you have your phone? I thought-“

            “I’m _fine_ ,” he stresses. “But I need your help. I need you calm, and ready.”

            There is a moment’s pause, and then: “Tell me what you need.”

            “In a few minutes, Tom’s going to park his car by the house, but he won’t come in,” Chris starts, watching Derek piece together what is going on. “Right now, I’m going to need you to call the sheriff’s office, and tell them there’s a guy sitting outside the house. Tell them you don’t know who the guy is, you’re alone, and that you haven’t seen me since last night. Tell them you’re scared.”

            “What’s going on, dad?” she asks, so softly.

            “I will explain everything when I get home, but I need you to do this for me, okay?” He wishes he could avoid involving her. She’s had too rough of a time, and so much of it has been his fault. “I’ll be home soon. I love you.”

            “I love you too,” Allison says, and Chris had not realized how deeply soothing it would be to hear such simple words. “See you soon.”

            She hangs up before he can, and Chris passes the phone back to Derek. He leans gently against the side of the Camaro and crosses his arms. Now it’s time for the part he won’t like. Derek won’t like it either. He sighs.

            “I need… you to hit me,” Chris says carefully. Not carefully enough, judging by how Derek raises his eyebrows in a way that very clearly says he thinks Chris has lost his mind. “Probably more than once.”

            “Even if I was willing to do that,” Derek says slowly, like speaking to a misbehaving child, “you’d just heal.”

            “You can stop it,” he points out. He had seen werewolves prevent themselves from healing, when it mattered whether or not humans saw them healing almost instantly. “You can tell me how to stop it, I mean. So it stays for a while.”

            “I’m not hitting you, Chris,” Derek says.

            “You don’t have a choice right now,” Chris tells him back, motioning in the direction of his house. “Tom still wants me dead, and if they don’t have a reason to hold him, he’ll be let go and come right for me again. Last night that was okay. Today, I need to buy time, and I need your help to do it.”

            “By hitting you?” Derek protests, and then seems to realize what is going on. “You’re going to tell them he did it.”

            “He mugged me,” Chris agrees. “Stole my phone and my wallet.”

            “They’ll look into your call history,” Derek points out. “I assume he wasn’t just passing through Beacon Hills.”

            Chris shrugs. “Let them look,” he says. “He came here in person to ask for help back home, and hunters… we have people that help us stay unconnected, in case something goes wrong. Call history won’t connect us.”

            “It’ll connect me,” Derek says.

            “It won’t,” Chris assures him. “I called my phone, not his. Your number’s not in my phone, so it would have looked like a call from another hunter. That’s why he didn’t pick up for Allison, but did for me. It will look like you tried to call my phone, and then called Allison. I know what I’m doing, Derek. Please do this.”

            Derek blows out a breath, and takes a step backward, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Okay,” he relents. “Stand up.”

            He waits while Chris pushes gently away from the Camaro and comes to stand before him, the perfect distance for a well-thrown punch to land hard. Derek moves in close and takes his hand instead, raking a single claw over his forearm. Chris gives a very undignified yelp at the sudden burst of pain, but Derek holds his wrist fast, grip so tight it grinds his bones together.

            “Fight it,” Derek commands, finger pressing into the open wound to keep it from closing. Chris knew that much about wolves; as long as there is an object in the wound, it won’t heal. That’s why they ever bother to hunt with arrows. “Ignore the pain, and fight the healing. Will it to stay open.”

            Chris closes his eyes, shutting out all the rest of his senses, and focuses on the pressure of the open laceration. He can feel the raw edges, the blood on his skin, and the furious wolf within him struggling to mend what is broken. His body wants to be whole so badly he can feel it working in overdrive, and he suppresses the urge to let it continue. Derek’s grip loosens as the seconds tick by, until Chris opens his eyes and sees he has withdrawn entirely.

            The wound on his arm sits open, blood dripping freely onto the pavement between them. Derek’s hand is coated.

            “Let it heal,” Derek says softly.

            Chris lets go of his will to stay injured, and the wound starts to close slowly. After a minute it has mostly stopped bleeding, though it is not gone entirely. “How long will it take?”

            “A while,” Derek answers. “A wound from an alpha will last longer than a wound from another beta. It helps keep the pack in order.”

            “It helps you control them,” Chris amends for him. Derek just shrugs, like the difference doesn’t mean anything to him. Chris drops it because he doesn’t want Derek actually angry with him when he throws his punch. Instead, he raises his chin and steels himself for it. “Come on, we don’t have a lot of time.”

            Derek gives him a searching, thoughtful look, regret evident in his eyes, and then he nods. He does not pull the punch and Chris does not expect him to, but he does expect it to hurt more than it does. As he’s on his knees with one hand pressed over his eye trying desperately not to let it heal immediately, he thinks maybe he has underestimated Derek. The hit had been precisely aimed and executed.

            “Let it heal a little,” Derek instructs, helping him to his feet again. “It will look too fresh if you don’t.”

            Chris wants to hiss something about fine-tuned control, but he looks into the sideview mirror again and focuses on letting the bruise heal until it looks more like a hit from the night prior. Derek checks it over when he stands, fingers gentle on Chris’ jaw. He nods approval.

            “You should go, then,” Derek says. “I’ll be nearby if you need help.”

            “You’ll be right next to me,” Chris tells him, brushing past. “You’re my witness.”

           

* * *

 

            Chris knows he is in trouble, when he sees Tom in cuffs, leaning against the hood of the sheriff’s car. Allison stands at the trunk with the sheriff, talking until she sees the Camaro pull to a stop on the curb. Chris pops the door and gets out slowly, Derek doing the same from the driver’s side. He sees the moment Allison spots them and her confusion clears, because she straightens up as if someone put a rod through her spine.

            The sheriff turns, hand already moving for his weapon, but he relaxes when he sees Chris and Derek. Chris hesitates, as if seeing this scene unexpectedly, and then closes the car door loudly enough to make everyone jump. Allison skirts around the sheriff and runs to Chris as if she really had not known if he was alive or dead.

            There is no way she can guess all that had transpired the night before, but she hugs him like she knows. He grasps back just as desperately for as close as he came to making a mistake he could never take back. He flinches just enough so that she takes the hint. He has trained her well; she immediately acts as if she must be careful, as if he is actually injured.

            John trails behind her, and Tom’s eyes follow, although he remains on the hood. “Mr. Argent,” John greets when Allison lets him go. “Derek. Are you okay?”

            “I’m fine,” Derek says, looking past the sheriff and right at the other hunter. “I found him out by my family’s place.”

            “Chris?” John asks, looking over.

            Chris meets Tom’s eyes for a second before looking back at the sheriff. He gestured vaguely to his injured eye. “Got attacked on a walk. Woke up when Derek found me, without my wallet or my phone. He drove me back.”

            “And… do you know who attacked you?” John asks, although it seems perfectly clear.

            Chris tips his head to indicate Tom, who scowls at the betrayal, and Chris knows it’s going to be nearly impossible to connect to _any_ hunter for a long time after this. Maybe never. “It looks like you already got him, Officer. Did you find my wallet or phone on him?”

            “I didn’t look,” the sheriff says, glancing over his shoulder. “I came because Allison called about someone suspicious sitting outside your house. Any idea why he might have been doing that? Do you know him?”

            “No,” Chris lies, staring straight at Tom. “I’ve never seen him before last night.”

            There is no way Tom will give him up as a liar, and even if he did, there’s no proof of it. But giving Chris up means explaining way more about their lives than Tom is willing to expose. He doesn’t know John’s in on it. He doesn’t know enough to do anything but get arrested, and released when Chris doesn’t press charges. That will be another conversation, one Chris will worry about when the time comes.

            John gives them all a dubious look, and then shakes his head and lets out a breath. “Allison,” he says, turning to her. “Would you mind calling your father’s phone?”

            Allison digs her phone out of her pocket and taps the screen a couple of times. Across the street, a phone begins to ring inside of Tom’s truck, exactly like Chris had hoped it would, and when the sheriff looks to him, he nods. “That’s my ringtone.”

            John nods back, and shoots Tom a look that clearly says _stay put_ before he crosses the street toward the truck. Chris waits a tick, ready to explain the situation to Tom before the sheriff can get back with his phone, but Derek gets there first. Chris swallows his protest as Derek gets right into Tom’s immediate personal space, eyes red.

            “You have approximately ten seconds to make a decision,” Derek hisses, low and dangerous, the words practically a growl. “You can choose to leave Beacon Hills and forget anything ever happened, or I can bite you right here, right now.”

            Chris hears the loud click of Tom’s throat as he swallows, not looking away from Derek. The sheriff opening the truck door is nearly deafening. “Forget what happened?”

            Derek bares his teeth and it might be considered a smile if not for all the sharp points. “Good choice,” he says, eyes paling again. “We protect this town, and the humans in it. Remember that if you think about changing your mind.”

            The truck door slams, and Tom flinches, and Derek is back by Chris’ side before the sheriff has even turned around. He holds up Chris’ phone and wallet. “Well, that’s more than enough for me,” he says as he heads back to them. “I’m going to take him in. Chris, when you’re up to it, you and Allison should come by to give your statements and file a report.”

            “Will do, Sheriff,” Chris agrees, sounding every bit as tired as he suddenly feels. “Thank you for being so vigilant.”

            “Just doing my job,” John says, skirting the edge of his car to open the rear door. He doesn’t get a chance to reach for the door before Tom is climbing into the safety of the backseat. “…Okay, then. Makes my job easy.” He shuts the door and turns to the small group. “I’m glad you’re okay, Chris. I’ll see you at the station.”

            They clear the street, standing on the grass so the sheriff has room to pull out and away. Allison has the good grace to wait until he turns the corner before rounding on Chris and Derek, fire in her eyes.

            “You two have got a _lot_ of explaining to do,” she says.

 

* * *

 

            By the time the sun begins to set, the wolf is wild under his skin.

            He has spent the day trying to explain to Allison what happened, what he had nearly done, and why he hadn’t. She had locked herself in her room for two hours, angry, and he had sat outside her door and waited the entire time. Eventually she had opened the door and taken a seat across the hall from him, her legs slotted around his in the small space.

            “I’m glad you stayed,” she had told him.

            “Me, too,” he’d said.

            Afterward, he had driven her to the sheriff’s department, and they had filed a report with the station. Chris had declined to press charges and Tom had been released around midday. Chris heard the start of his engine across the street, but Tom had made no move to threaten or even communicate with him. It had been just as well; Chris still has no idea what he would have said, if Tom had come to him again.

            When he’d been sure Tom was actually gone, he had taken Allison out to an early dinner. He had known tonight would be the worst of the nights, the one where he is most helpless, the most wild, and that she would have to be alone through it. Over their shared favorite pizza, they had laid down new full-moon rules, ones that took into account his new and hopefully temporary inability to protect her without dismissing how deeply she had become engaged with the supernatural even before tonight.

            His first stipulation had been that she stay at Lydia’s on full moons so that if anything happened, she at least had company that could help her. Her counter stipulation had been that he go talk to Derek tonight, and ask him about the control he had promised.

            That is why he finds himself standing in front of Derek Hale’s apartment door, his wolf scrabbling at his control, desperate to be free. Desperate to be anywhere but trapped in a hallway alone. He closes a howl in his throat, and raises his knuckles to rap on the door.

            It opens before he can, heavy and loud, and then Derek is there.

            Chris’ knees nearly buckle at how good he smells, and his wolf freezes in rapt attention to the alpha standing before them now. He has questions, or he did, but he can’t seem to recall a single word of his entire vocabulary. All he can think about is how much he needs. He clears his throat and speaks over his own pounding heart.

            “It’s so loud,” he says, instead of any of the requests he thought he could make. He wanted to go running, he wanted to howl to the moon, he wanted to hear the wolves singing all around him again. “The wolf. It wants out.”

            Derek looks him up and down, slow enough it makes Chris squirm in a way he hasn’t since high school. “Packs don’t normally run with Omega wolves,” he says, and even though it sounds like a statement, Chris knows it is a question.

            More than that, it is an _offer_.

            “I know,” Chris says, because he does, and because he can’t ask for it. He may be a werewolf now, but he’s lived his entire life as a hunter and no matter what the wolf inside him is screaming for, he can’t ask.

            Derek studies him for another few seconds before stepping aside, leaving the path into his apartment clear. It is another invitation, a different one this time, and one Chris knows he wants for himself. Chris swallows and crosses the threshold. When the door closes behind him, he shudders and lets out a shaky breath.

            When he turns, Derek is closer than he expects, and Chris wants a thousand things and has twice as many questions, but there is only one overlap between the two. “How do I become a part of a pack?”

            “You have to want it,” Derek tells him, without any hesitation. “Wolves become Omega for one of two reasons- they lose their alpha and no beta can take over, or they no longer want to be in a pack.” He takes a step closer, and Chris can feel the overwhelming presence of _alpha_ , and he knows wanting it won’t be a problem.

            But Chris already wants, and he isn’t a part of any pack, so he knows there must be more. “What else?” he asks, no voice to the words, only breath.

            “Submission,” Derek murmurs, not breaking eye contact. “ _Willing_ submission to an alpha.” He doesn’t move any closer, but Chris feels his next words like a caress. “A desire to be claimed… by the pack, of course.”

            “Of course,” Chris agrees, voice cracking. “And then?”

            Derek tips his head a little, and Chris isn’t sure if it’s reality or just the light that glints red in his eyes. “A bite,” Derek tells him, softer than the word’s meaning. “From the new pack’s alpha.”

            Chris shivers, breath going soft, and Derek is too close and too far and the moon has risen and he just _wants_ so _much_. When he surges forward, Derek meets him like he’d just been waiting for permission, just as eager to kiss and be kissed as Chris. Inside, Chris’ wolf howls in delight, finally alive as Derek walks him backward across the room, plucking and pulling at his clothing until Chris stumbles over the bottom stair of the staircase.

            Derek releases him long enough for both of them to scramble up the stairs and to the edge of the bed. Then Derek is on him again, crowding him until he sits, until he’s flat on his back and Derek can get him out of his pants, too.

            The first touch of Derek’s lips and tongue and teeth to his neck wrench a desperate, pathetic noise out of Chris, one he probably won’t be proud of in the morning, but the growl Derek gives in return is worth it. Chris bares his throat to Derek, groaning deep when Derek sucks a mark into his pulse point before moving off of him again.

            Chris watches, breathless and expectant, as Derek slithers out of the rest of his own clothing with an amount of grace Chris envies, and then Derek is back, covering Chris’ body with his own and there’s no more room for anything else. There is only the warm slide of Derek’s skin against his own as Derek moves up to kiss him again. When Derek grinds down against him for the first time Chris feels like a live wire, bright and sparking and raw at the edges, right up until he doesn’t anymore.

            Right up until he feels the cooling press of Alpha against his senses, calm and steady and wild but not feral. In control.

            It feels like moonlight and freedom and the endless time of a stolen moment. He can breathe again, the same way he could while barreling through the forest, while howling with the other wolves to the moon above. He pushes against the feeling but he might as well be pushing against a brick wall, and Derek isn’t holding him down, but he is _holding him down_ , and Chris relaxes into it.

            Derek’s breath is warm at his ear. “Okay?”

            Chris is afraid if he opens his mouth, it won’t be words that come out, so he just nods and swallows the sound he wants to make.

            He feels Derek smile against his skin a second before he feels teeth, blunt and smooth, against his neck again. Chris can’t find enough skin to touch, even though it’s all there for him, even though he runs his fingers over every inch he can reach. Derek leans into every touch and Chris doesn’t have to ask to know he’s just as desperate to be touched as Chris is.

            It has been a long time for Chris and Derek can’t be much better off. With everything he has learned about Derek, he wonders if Derek has ever been touched by someone that didn’t want something from him. Even here, even now, Chris wants something from him, needs something.

            He pulls Derek’s questing lips up to his and promises himself he will make sure it doesn’t stay that way. There will be time after this. There will be calm for Chris to take Derek apart in and put him back together better, or at least differently. Chris isn’t sure he’ll be any good at better, but maybe differently will be enough.

            Derek pulls away from him, kisses a line down his side to nip at his hip bone. Chris grunts and grabs at him but doesn’t move him, doesn’t pull when his fingers find Derek’s thick hair. Derek pauses, waits to see, and when Chris makes no further move he licks over the abused skin.

            Somehow, Chris hears the click of the lube cap over the sound of his own pounding heart. He doesn’t know where Derek got it and he doesn’t _care_ , because a second later he feels the cool-slick touch of Derek’s fingers against him at the same time Derek’s warm, dry palm wraps around his dick and squeezes just right to get his whole attention. A low, needy noise escapes Chris. This is what he wants, _exactly_ what he wants, to have Derek inside of him, to let Derek take him as one of his own.

            But as intense as Derek’s focus is, every motion he makes is too slow, too calculated, too steady. He’s only two fingers into Chris by the time Chris is ready to snarl at him to hurry it up, but as he opens his mouth, he realizes that Derek won’t listen to that kind of command. He’s doing this on purpose, stroking inside of Chris at exactly the sort of pace sure to string Chris out, make him desperate to say exactly the sort of things he was just about to say.

            So he snaps his jaw closed and digs his fingers into Derek’s shoulders to hold on, and if his claws prick at Derek’s skin a little, Derek doesn’t say anything either.

            He is wolfed out and trembling by the time Derek smoothes his palm over Chris’ belly, fingers trailing over his collarbone and up to his jaw. “Turn over.”

            Chris scrambles to obey, all questions and hesitation drained away by Derek’s patient fingers and mouth, replaced with a singularly consuming need to be closer, have more.

            With one clawed hand resting next to Chris’ on the bed, Derek lines them up, chest warm against Chris’ back, but he stops as soon as he has settled. Chris rocks back with a whine, but Derek moves with him, not letting him chase what he wants. Chris closes his eyes and draws in one breath, two, before he manages: “Please.”

            Chris feels some kind of murmured approval against his shoulder and then Derek is pushing inside of him, hot and hard and filling and Chris can’t think anything else except _holy shit, perfect_. Derek barely bottoms out before pulling out, sliding back in so slowly Chris can hardly stand it, especially not when Derek’s hand finds Chris’ cock again and his lips ghost the nape of Chris’ neck.

            More than anything, Chris can feel the heady press of _Alpha_ against his senses.

            Derek feels like the steady kind of control Chris desperately needs, the kind that pulls in his claws and smoothes out his features and blunts his teeth. The wolf in Derek makes Chris feel human again.

            So he lets Derek in, braces himself to thrust back against him, relishes in the slick slide of skin on skin, the scent of sex wreathed all around them. Derek keeps an even pace, drives them both right up to the edge, right up until it is too much, and then stops again. Chris isn’t proud of the strangled noise he makes, but Derek holds him still with just one hand, fingers tight on his hips to keep him from seeking release on his own.

            “Tell me what you want.” The words land hot and sticky against the skin of Chris’ shoulder, the command in Derek’s tone thick enough to send a pulse of pleasure through Chris. It’s not enough, and Chris whines again. “Ask me.”

            Chris doesn’t want to use words. He doesn’t want to ask. If he asks, he can’t take it back. He can’t blame anyone but himself, later, and they both know it.

            His wolf pushes back against the Alpha pressing in all around them, squirming and shoving and testing his will against Derek’s without moving a muscle. Derek stays still in body and in mind, firm and steady and utterly unable to be moved, and for the first time since the bite, Chris feels like he is _free_.

            He feels _safe_.

            He presses again, this time without conviction, and Derek’s wolf presses back, every bit the equivalent of grabbing his scruff and pinning him to the floor, and Chris relaxes.

            Derek can hold him, keep him human, keep him safe from himself. He promised Chris that he could keep him from hurting anyone, but this is the first time Chris has believed him, the first time he understands what that means. With no small amount of relief, he surrenders.

            “Please,” he begs, voice raw despite that he’s hardly said a word tonight. “I want to be part of your pack, your beta, your- _please_ , Derek, I want-“

            Derek growls and pushes in deep, pushes forward enough to sink his teeth into the nape of Chris’ neck. The power of the bite rushes through him, claiming him and changing him and driving him over the edge as he experiences everything that comes with the shift between omega and beta. The heady rush of connection courses through him even as he feels himself pulsing into Derek’s hand, and all of it leaves him dizzy.

            As he comes down from it, he can feel Derek panting against his neck, feel the slight tremble in both their frames as Derek keeps them locked together, keeps Chris held close until he can function well enough to move. Chris gives a soft groan of appreciation, and Derek takes that as his cue to pull them both down onto their sides. He slides out, still overwarm and sticky, but Chris finds he doesn’t want him to go anywhere just yet.

            Derek, thankfully, seems obliging in that respect, tucking Chris in close to himself and licking softly at the slowly-closing bite mark on Chris’ neck.

            Chris closes his eyes and stretches his senses. He has spent most of his life alone in one respect or another. Hunters were, by their nature, not pack creatures. They congregated, on occasion, if something very bad was happening. He could make a phone call and have others turn up to help him. He had married Victoria because he loved her, but she had always loved the hunt more. He had kept his secrets from Allison, and it had almost torn them apart.

            This, though, this is different. He can feel Derek’s presence connecting to him in a way no human ever could. He can feel the power shared with him from the others in Derek’s pack, small and broken though it is. Without asking, he knows that it will never matter how far apart any of them are, either. He will know they exist because he will be able to feel them.

            He shifts enough to bring one hand into view, to see the blunt tips of his fingers. He runs his tongue over the edges of his human teeth. The wolf within him has settled, content and lazy and unwilling to do anything except bask in this moment, wrapped up in their alpha.

            “Is it usually like this with an alpha?” he mumbles, the words heavy in his mouth. He doesn’t want to run anymore. He just wants to sleep. “So easy to control?”

            “Sometimes,” Derek answers, muzzy and warm with his lips against Chris’ neck. “When you have a good pack and a good anchor. A good reason to hold on, to stay human. We call that an anchor.”

            “What’s yours?” Chris asks.

            Derek is quiet for a long time after that, long enough that Chris thinks maybe he fell asleep, long enough that Chris almost falls asleep, and then Derek stirs and lets out a breath. “It used to be anger,” he admits. “I used to be angry at everything. The whole world. Myself. You.”

            “And now?” Chris prompts, sliding his fingers to twine with Derek’s. It is, perhaps, too intimate despite the rest of the night, but on some level Chris appreciates that what he is asking is intimate as well.

            “I’m not mad at you anymore,” Derek admits. “I’ve been using regret. I can’t recommend it. You have much better options. You did choose to stay for Allison.”

            “I did,” Chris agrees. He gives Derek’s hand a little squeeze before releasing him. He doesn’t offer any hollow words about Derek finding a better anchor or about tying his humanity to something like kindness or love. They don’t know each other well enough for that.

            But, Chris thinks as he closes his eyes, they will. If he has anything to say about it, they will.

 


End file.
